Regrets
by vlbuehle
Summary: Winona Kirk hadn't given her youngest, Jim, more then a passing thought in about six or seven years... Until she started getting calls from reporters wanting an interview with the mother of the hero who saved the Federation.
1. Regrets

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

**A/N:** Lifted from the wonderfully inspirational kink_meme: _Winona Kirk hadn't given her youngest, Jim, more then a passing thought in about six or seven years... Until she starts getting calls from reporters wanting an interview with the mother of the hero who saved the federation._

_

* * *

_

Winona stumbled through the door and kicked it shut behind her, dropping her satchel unceremoniously at her feet and staring around the living room with bleary eyes. Christ alive, it'd been a long fucking day, and the aftermath was only just beginning. She'd caught bits and pieces of the newsfeeds, even if some of her colleagues' conversations had died the moment they'd seen her; she knew that _thing_ that had taken her husband was back, and she knew it was gone. One of the feeds had reported that the sole surviving flagship, _Enterprise_, had lost its Captain—she remembered Chris Pike vaguely, he'd been one of George's friends so long ago—and that presumably First Officer Spock was now Acting Captain. She'd have to send him a personal note of congratulations and thanks, Winona mused to herself as she yanked off her boots and briefly rubbed her aching feet.

She walked into the kitchen and gave a numb look at the fridge before she shook her head and opened the cabinet over the sink. There, a bottle of Strathisle Scotch she'd been saving for years, one she'd never really thought to drink because she'd sworn she'd do it only when George had been avenged.

Tonight counted, and she carried her loot back to her favored recliner and dropped into it with a weary groan, flicking a bitter look at the message light blinking away. "How many messages?" she asked her machine.

"_Thirty-nine messages."_

"Yeah." She uncorked the scotch and took a long swig with no respect for its age or potency. She wanted to get utterly shit-faced tonight. The newsfeeds hadn't had much to go on—Captain Spock was too busy saving Earth to file reports, and Starfleet was a disjointed mess at the moment—so they'd filled their quota by digging up the clips about the Kelvin and George. Of course their next step would've been to come after George Kirk's widow. Winona supposed she should be grateful they hadn't gotten their hands on her Fleet comm, or she'd have been fielding them off at work too, but the house comm was public and she'd never gotten around to changing it.

Fuck it. She'd deal with them in the morning. She drank again and lowered the bottle, eyes burning as reaction really began to set in. Vulcan was gone. Half of the Federation's founders wiped away in one horrible blow, a proud and distinguished people who'd been exploring the stars hundreds of years before Earth even knew space flight existed turned into an endangered species in one fell swoop. Earth's beloved if austere partner gone with no warning, no chance of salvation. She shuddered at the thought and wondered how long it would take for the loss to really sink in. Right now Earth was celebrating its own survival thanks to the Enterprise's crew and their daring captain, but euphoria would fade with the night, and reality would soon set in.

She didn't bother to turn the newsfeeds on, there was no point. Earth was safe, Vulcan was gone, and all she'd see was George plastered across the screen, a stark contrast to the half-Vulcan who'd saved her world and lost his own, but beaten the ship that had murdered her beloved. No, better to get drunk, and she did just that.

* * *

She woke to birds chirping a bright greeting to the sun slanting through her windows, and a pounding head that sent her stumbling straight for the bathroom. She emerged an hour later, refreshed and not as hungover, thank God, and pulled on jeans and a t-shirt before she wandered downstairs. They had the day off at least, and by now it had probably become the week; too many people had died, Starfleet would shut down briefly in the aftermath to mourn and gather itself to move on. She grimaced at the messages—eighty-one, really? The reporters must be desperate for a soundbyte to be pestering her this long!—and ignored them in favor of the kitchen. The hangover blockers had kicked in, and a greasy fry-up sounded perfect today.

Winona wolfed down fried eggs, bacon, tomatoes and hashbrowns, savoring each guilty bite because what the hell, she was still alive to do it. Then she dutifully washed up before returning to the living room and grimacing at the machine—nearly a hundred messages now, dammit. Ignoring them was a temptation, but there might well be legitimate calls from friends worried about her. Sam would call her official comm when he couldn't get through, but not all of her friends had it. Sighing, she sank down into her recliner and braced herself.

"Computer, play messages."

"Commander Kirk, this is Jon White from the _Iowa Star_. I had a few questions about your reactions to the return of the ship that destroyed the _Kelvin_. My number is…"

"Delete."

"Mrs. Kirk, I'm Willa Richardson from the _Herald_, I was hoping to get your take on—"

"Delete."

The first twenty were about what she'd expected, and there were a handful of calls from concerned friends peppered through them, enough for her to keep going.

"Commander Kirk, I'm Henry Rosier from the _New York Times_. I'd like to discuss the recent events, let you have your say. How does it feel to know your son avenged his father and saved Earth? Please call me back."

Winona sat frozen, staring at her machine. Sam? Impossible, Sam was on the Lunar Colony, working as a biologist, and _someone_ would've contacted her if he'd gotten swept up in this madness.

"I'm Amy Jireu from the _Global Inquirer_. We'd like the exclusive on James T. Kirk, and we're willing to pay you for it. Call me back."

Winona couldn't breathe. Not Sam. Jim.

"I'm Sam Atkinson from _Federation News_. We'd like to speak with you, Mrs. Kirk, see how you feel about being the mother of the hero who saved the Federation. Please call me back. Thank you."

Jim, a hero? The hero who'd saved the Federation? The boy she'd washed her hands of years ago had saved the world? Impossible, and the scorn rose thickly—and died when she remembered the half-furtive looks and the way conversations had died when she'd entered a room yesterday. Not because of George, as she'd assumed, but because of Jim. Because she boasted about Sam and Aurelan and their boys to anyone who'd listen, because she kept holos of them plastered across her office, but she rarely spoke of her youngest and when she did, it was always scornful. After all, one son had turned out fine, so she could hardly be blamed for the shuttle wreck that was her second.

She hadn't even thought about him, she realized slowly. Hadn't even wondered where he was, if he was all right. Hadn't cared enough to wonder, she corrected herself, because it'd be a miracle if she'd spared more than a passing thought to him over the past several years. Too much lay between them, and she'd never quite forgiven him for keeping her from going down with George, much less acting so much like his father. Sammy might've been George's namesake, but it was Jim who was a shining mirror of his father's indomitable spirit and durasteel determination. And she'd never forgiven that either.

Frank hadn't been the best of choices as a stepfather, but Sam had turned out all right. Jim, though, had gone from a quiet, biddable child to a fierce rebel overnight. So she'd shipped him off to her sister on Tarsus IV, relying on the colonial life to shape him up a bit. She'd gotten him back months later, a living skeleton with haunted, haunting eyes and nothing but savage contempt and deep distrust for those in authority. It had taken him months to recover physically, and the underlying distrust and borderline disdain had never vanished from his eyes. He'd never trusted her again. Nothing she'd tried had worked, not that she'd tried all that hard, not with George's eyes glaring back at her. He'd nearly flunked out of high school, hadn't even bothered with college, not that he'd had the grades or the brains to get into anything worthwhile as far as she knew.

In fact, when was the last time she'd even heard of him? Winona frowned as she thought back—three years ago, maybe? Then the usual scuttlebutt about George's youngest getting into yet another bar fight, drunken wreck, or combination of the above had simply died overnight. She'd been grateful he'd finally had the courtesy to go elsewhere rather than continue embarrassing her and tarnishing his father's name in his hometown, and then she'd put it aside, telling herself she'd done her best by Jimmy and he'd squandered every chance she could offer. He wasn't her problem anymore.

She fumbled the holo on and the _Federation News_ logo popped up on the screen.

"—for those of our viewers just coming on, I'm Sam Atkinson, and this is _Federation News_," the anchor announced, his face solemn. "We've just received an update from Starfleet confirming the destruction of the ship we now know is called the _Narada_." He began a narrative as simulations flashed across the screen; the giant ship that had haunted her nightmares for twenty-five years pitted against the tiny form of the _Kelvin_, George's sacrifice for his crew, the reappearance of the ship above Vulcan yesterday and the frantic cry for help that had, ultimately, proven a trap costing Starfleet eighty percent of its graduating and junior classes. With the main bulk of the Fleet engaged elsewhere, they'd staffed their six ships in orbit with their cadets and nearly every officer on Earth and gone to save Vulcan, but five of the six had died at the _Narada's_ torpedos, leaving only the flagship alive. The anchor solemnly related Christopher Pike's heroic sacrifice of himself to spare his crew, and then recounted Vulcan's death and the fraction of survivors evacuated in time, sparing a moment to honor Amanda Grayson specifically. Her loss had compelled her son, Acting Captain Spock, to remove himself from command as being emotionally compromised, and Acting First Officer James T. Kirk, youngest son of Captain George Kirk, had stepped up and taken command of the flagship. He had then planned and led a daring offensive which had disabled the _Narada_, including the mining rounds it had adapted to induce anomalies like the one that had swallowed Vulcan, and ultimately led to the ship's destruction. The _Enterprise_ had survived, although it too had sustained heavy casualties in the battle, and was limping its way home at impulse, Atkinson concluded seriously. Captain Kirk's mother, Commander Winona Kirk, had not yet been available for comment.

Winona sank back into her chair, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. Jimmy had saved the world, had avenged his father. The boy she'd spent years considering useless in the back of her mind was the only reason she was still alive.

She hadn't even known he was in Starfleet.

No, Winona realized, that wasn't quite true. She'd gotten a comm three years ago, from a solemn-faced man in casual clothes who'd told her that Jim had enlisted in Starfleet, but she'd cut him off right there, sick to death of her youngest and his fuck ups. She'd sneered, she realized sickly, as she'd told him she didn't appreciate pranks like this, and he was damn well old enough to know better. His face had frozen, she thought now as she looked back through unclouded eyes, and his warm eyes had gone cold and hard. She hadn't cared at the time; Jim was a good hacker, she'd give him that, and it wasn't inconceivable that he'd hacked out her private comm number and put someone up to pranking her. She'd gone on to inform the man that if Starfleet was desperate enough to recruit criminals they were welcome to her son; she'd had enough, she'd shouted, and she never wanted to hear from him again. The man had nodded briefly, informed her that he'd consider that permission to remove her from Jim's emergency contacts and put himself down instead since she clearly didn't want Jim and he did, and disconnected without bothering to tell her his supposed name.

She'd been grateful, Winona admitted sickly. Grateful she wouldn't have to deal with Jim again when he hadn't followed up on the prank, when nothing but silence had come, and she'd put him out of her head for good.

The official image of Captain Christopher Pike flashed on the screen and she groaned as she recognized the man who'd contacted her three years ago and watched her with cold eyes. Lovely, just fucking perfect. No wonder she hadn't gotten any of the usual updates and the like that most parents of Starfleet cadets did; Pike had clearly taken her at her word, and taken Jim. She wondered briefly if Jim knew about it, and what he'd made of someone who wanted him that badly.

She'd fucked up, big time. She'd neglected her youngest, she'd blamed him instead of listening, and in the end, she really hadn't given much of a damn about him. She'd been convinced he was rotting in a bar somewhere when he'd been out saving the Federation.

Maybe it was too late, but she had to try, had to at least make an attempt to bridge the gulf she'd built between them. He was her son, and the thought of losing him _hurt_ because she knew how close he'd come to dying yesterday. He might've died a hero but he'd still be as dead as his father.

George had sacrificed himself as much for Jimmy as he had for her, and she'd blamed Jim for that. She'd never once stopped to think that he was the last thing George had given her.

Winona wiped away the tears she hadn't realized were falling and nodded grimly to herself. It might well be too late to fix this, to salvage some sort of relationship with her son, but it wasn't too late to try. And if he slapped her attempts away, if he ignored her as she had him, well, she'd try again. Because she'd given up too early and too often when he was a kid, and she wasn't going to do it again, not this time. He'd made himself a man without her—she wondered what hand Chris Pike had played in the man Jim had become, and surprised herself by hoping it was a big one—and she wanted to know that man.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for her comm and called an old friend. "Jon? It's Winona. I was wondering if you had Jim's number…"

* * *

TBC...


	2. I've Had A Few

Disclaimer: Not mine, more's the pity, and I'm not making a cent off this.

A/N: Fair warning: This is and will remain a gen Jim and Winona fic, but there will be some mild slash. Very mild, but I've now warned you, so if it's an issue, please don't read. Enjoy!

* * *

It had been a long goddamn few days, Jim decided wearily as he slipped quietly into the apartment he shared with Bones. First there had been the glorious fun of limping home in his battered lady, doing what he could to hold his crew and ship together long enough to get back to Earth. Even when they'd finally made it home, he hadn't had time to relax; there had been injured to transfer down, reports to file and flesh out, hurried commendations for everyone while he still had Acting Captain before his name, and a final round of personal thanks for his bridge crew, who'd set aside their doubts to follow his crazy-assed scheme.

Then he'd finally gotten on the shuttle taking them to the Academy and the real fun had started. He'd spent hours on his feet and more hours sitting in front of tribunals and committees, defending every decision he'd ever made. Spock had dropped his complaint for the _Kobayashi_ debacle, but that didn't mean shit in the face of every rule and regulation he'd broken, which was just about every one in the damn playbook. His own determination to cover Bones' ass hadn't exactly helped, but he was pretty sure Bones wasn't going to get more than a slap on the wrist, considering Earth would be very dead right now if not for him, and even Spock had admitted as much.

The Admiralty had let his crew go long before Jim himself had been dismissed, and he'd flatly forbidden Bones to wait for him. If the darkness of the apartment was any indication, his lover had crashed once he'd gotten home, not that Jim grudged him the rest; they were all running on empty right now. He wasn't the exception to the rule, but he'd spent the better part of sixteen hours defending himself and his people, and the adrenaline was too high right now for sleep. He needed to calm down, needed to let himself settle before he joined Bones, or he'd be begging for nightmares and he didn't feel like dealing with a parade of his personal horrors all night. Not tonight.

Jim sank down on the couch and leaned back, scrubbing his hands over his face and contemplating the merits of some decent booze. He should probably feel more nervous than he did; the Admiralty had remained impressively blank-faced throughout his entire debriefing without giving him a hint of what they thought about his actions. That probably wasn't a good sign, but he couldn't bring himself to give a shit right now. Tomorrow would be soon enough for the worries and the grief; Vulcan was a huge loss, yes, almost too big to conceive of, but it was his classmates that hurt the most because he'd known most of the people who'd died in the skies above Vulcan. But tonight—tonight wasn't for worries or mourning. He'd gotten his crew home again, and because of their hard work there'd been a home to come back to. For now, that was enough.

He glanced over at the table and winced at the blinking comm signaling messages. It was tempting to put it off for the morning, but he wasn't ready to drop just yet, and besides, that was his official Fleet comm. Any reporters that made it through to this number damn well deserved a personal brush-off, and maybe a discussion about their hacking techniques.

Blowing out a breath, Jim leaned over and snagged his comm, dragging it onto the couch with him. He pulled up the messages and frowned a little; more than he'd hoped for, less by far than he'd feared. Looked like the Fleet firewall had beaten the hackers yet again.

He thumbed through quickly: notice of suspension, orders to report to the Academy to fill in for a handful of instructors gone with the fleet to Vulcan, a handful of demands as to his whereabouts which he deleted with thoroughly unrepentant glee, and then a gag order from the Fleet public relations office. Big surprise there, but a damn good excuse to keep his mouth shut when the reporters came calling, so he'd take it. A series of worried queries from the bridge crew, sent as the hours dragged on and there had been no word of him; he composed a generic reassurance and sent it out. Notifications of memorials, and several requests for speeches; he ignored the ones clearly intended to puff up Starfleet's image, but sent agreement to the ones intended for the traumatized cadets still alive. A series of alerts on Pike, as per his request, keeping him updated on the captain's condition; he forwarded those to Bones, relieved to note it looked good. Not good enough for a Captain, but then they'd be promoting him anyway to fill the gaps in the Admiralty, and the tentative prognosis suggested he'd be back on his feet within a year. Jim lowered his head for a moment of shameless relief, but he and Chris Pike were far closer than most people had ever realized. Pike had recruited him, but more importantly, Pike had seen something in him that made him worth fighting for when everyone else had written Jim off for good. Jim wouldn't ever forget being called to Pike's office the day after he'd enlisted to find the man grim-faced and coldly furious as he'd gently explained he'd alerted Winona that Jim had enlisted, as per protocol. And Jim hadn't needed it said to know it hadn't gone well; Winona had washed her hands of him long ago and she'd never regretted it since.

The real shock had been Pike steering him to the couch and dropping down next to him, a casual arm going over his shoulder as he was firmly informed that being the case, he was Chris Pike's now and that was the end of it. He was to sign the PADD making Pike his emergency contact and next of kin, which he'd obediently done, and then Pike had given him a wicked grin, welcomed him to the family, and informed him to show up for dinner on Saturday no later than 5pm. Jim hadn't believed it at first; it had been so damn long since someone had wanted _him_, but Chris Pike was a determined man, and he wasn't joking. He'd mentored and shepherded and reamed Jim out all the way through the Academy. Which was probably why it had meant so much to have Pike give him a tired smile when Bones finally let Jim into Sickbay, and to see the delight in the older man's eyes as he addressed Acting Captain Kirk.

One message left and he frowned as he realized he didn't recognize the number, then shrugged and opened it. A woman's face popped up, and he froze, staring at his mother. She was older than he remembered, with threads of gray streaking her hair, but she was still beautiful. Still Mom.

The real question was what the hell did she want?

"Hello, Jim," she said quietly, and his hands clenched around his comm at the sound of her soft voice. "I pulled some strings, called in a few old favors to get your number. I—" her voice trailed off for a second as he frowned down at her face; why had she bothered? She hadn't been interested before. "I have no right to ask this, but I'd like to speak to you. Please call me back." Her breath hitched, but her eyes stayed steady. "Please, Jim."

Jim didn't know how long he sat on the couch, gaze locked on the darkened screen, before a warm body settled next to him. A blanket was tossed over his shoulders before an arm pulled him against Bones' solid frame.

"Bad news?" his lover asked mildly, and Jim blinked out of his daze.

"What time is it?"

"Late. Doesn't matter, we're all off for the next couple of days. Medical orders." Bones paused for a second to pry the comm from Jim's hands, then rubbed the cramps out. "Talk to me, Jim."

"My mom called."

Bones went ominously still, but then he'd been the one to pull Jim out of the brawls and the drinking binges when his personal demons were too strong for sex to beat back, and he'd suffered through the nightmares about Frank and Tarsus and all the other shit tucked neatly away in Jim's psyche.

"And what does she want?" he asked, drawl thickening in warning. Jim blew out a shaken breath.

"To talk, she said."

"Hmm." Bones didn't say anything for a few long minutes, just rubbed slow circles on Jim's back. He was shaking, he realized in some surprise—when had he started shaking? "Are you going to call back?"

He didn't want to. A very large part of him didn't want to. Yeah, he hadn't been the easiest of kids growing up—genius level repeat offender pretty much covered it—but he couldn't remember a time when Winona hadn't looked at him with cool distance in her eyes that thawed whenever her gaze found Sam. Couldn't remember finding actual approval in her face rather than indifference. She'd almost never touched him, even when he'd tried to provoke her into a spanking because at least then she'd have to touch him. She hadn't given a shit when he'd been good, and she'd acted like it was no surprise when he finally exploded, because at least when she was yelling she was seeing _him_, not the dead father he'd never seen. She'd ignored him when he'd tried to tell her about Frank, snapping that he couldn't be that bad given that _Sam_ never had any troubles with the man.

And once he had started acting up in ways even she couldn't ignore, it hadn't taken her long to ship him halfway across the galaxy to her sister rather than deal with him herself. Tarsus had shaped him, had turned him from a frustrated child into a hardened survivor with as little respect for his mother as she'd had for him, because she'd sent him to that hell without even bothering to check. He'd checked, after he was back on Earth; yeah, things hadn't been bad yet, but there had been hints that maybe, just maybe, something was off on Tarsus IV.

Winona had never even apologized.

After he'd come back, he'd been through. Fuck her and her disdain; if she didn't want him, fuck her very much. He'd watched his aunt and uncle die, had seen his younger cousins butchered, and he'd listened as Hoshi Sato died cursing Kodos with her final breath. Jim had been Kodos' prize, the genius son of one of the Federation's greatest martyrs, and he'd used that ruthlessly to protect the few he could, later escaping and hiding with his small band of survivors, doing whatever it took to keep them alive. His mother hating him wasn't that big a deal, not after dealing with Kodos' madness for weeks on end.

But he'd still hoped, a small part of him. Until her rants had turned to his future, or lack thereof. The day she'd flatly told him he didn't have the brains to get into a decent college, he'd nearly laughed in her face, because his record hadn't slowed any college from coming after him; he had acceptances from every single one he'd applied to, a Who's Who list of the finest colleges in the world.

That had also been the end of it for him. She'd been getting aptitude results and correspondence from teachers raving about his brains for years and obviously hadn't bothered to read any of it. Nor had she ever bothered to understand what it had taken to survive Tarsus.

Fuck it. He'd been done, and he'd walked out the day he'd graduated to her poorly hidden relief and started doing his considerable best to destroy himself with a series of dead-end jobs and fights afterwards.

Then Chris Pike had come along, thrown a challenge in his face with steady eyes, and knocked some sense into him. He might have started out because Jim was the son of his dead friend, but he'd made it very clear he respected Jim for himself, not George's son. At the Academy he'd actually nearly been challenged intellectually, and he'd found a mentor and father figure in Christopher Pike, a best friend and then lover in Bones.

He'd been happy. And right now, he felt like that bewildered, hurt child again whose mother hated the very sight of him.

But she was still his mother. And looking back, he hadn't exactly made things easy. She'd fucked up first and worst by far, but…

"I'll hear her out," he decided, and Bones' arms tightened briefly. He'd regret it if he didn't, even if it was only that small bit of him that was still a child craving his mother's love. "One more chance, and that's the end of it."

"All right," Bones said quietly. He wasn't happy, but this was Jim's call and he'd made it. "Together, then."

Jim's lips twitched; if Winona said something Bones didn't like, his overly possessive lover would probably cut her off, ream her out like he'd been itching to do for ages, and make sure she never got near Jim again. He could live with that; it was nice to have someone so fiercely protective of him. "Yes, Bones."

"In the morning," his lover added in a tone that brooked no argument. "Bedtime now, and _don't_ argue with me, kid, or I'll sedate your ass so fast you won't know what hit you."

Jim was laughing even as he was hauled up and towed into the bedroom. "Whatever you say, dear."

"Shut up. Brat."

He was still grinning as he followed his grumbling lover into the bedroom, shoving all thoughts of Winona and tomorrow out of his head. Tonight, he'd savor his victory. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

* * *

TBC...


	3. Conversations

Disclaimer: Completely, utterly, categorically and sadly not mine, and no, I'm not making any money off this.

* * *

A/N: Yes, the timeline here is unrealistically fast. If you want my internal logic, feel free to PM me; otherwise, I'm claiming Author's Privilege here.

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and feedback; you guys are the best! And a great big thanks to xxtaintetayxx who betaed this, or you'd still be waiting.

* * *

He'd lost and he knew it, but he was James T. Kirk and he didn't believe in no-win scenarios, even the one staring him in the face.

"This really isn't necessary," he tried one final time, only to have his lover pin him under a steady glare. Bones was not yielding on this front, and his folded arms and furrowed brows screamed as much.

"I can always call Pike," was the surprisingly mild retort and Jim winced again. He'd put off calling his mother back for two damn days because Bones had put his foot firmly down on the first day and used medical privilege to ban Jim from all comms, stating firmly that emotional stress was still stress and for once Jim was going to have a nice, quiet day if it killed them both. The second day he'd woken to more calls for immediate debriefings to clarify certain issues with his story, which had pretty much meant defending his actions yet again while assorted Admirals grilled him on why he'd chosen to do this or that, what had prompted him in breaking such and such regulation, and what might he have done differently? It had lasted most of the day, with Spock of all people storming the conference room briefly to retrieve Jim for his mandatory lunch break where he'd been plied with sandwiches by the anxious Scotty, and the Admiralty hadn't kicked him out like he'd half-expected at that point; instead, they'd unofficially confirmed his field promotion and dismissed him with their congratulations. Jim had then wrapped up the day by cajoling Admiral Archer into giving Scotty another chance for helping Jim to save the planet. If they were promoting him, he was damn well going to have the best on his ship and that meant keeping the sandwich-happy engineer on his ship to pull off the impossible when Jim asked for it. He still needed to compose his requests for the rest of the command crew he'd served with, but that would have to wait until after the call because he'd been too damn tired last night to bother.

By the time he'd stumbled into Pike's hospital room in response to a summons from the man, he'd been bleary-eyed and so close to incoherent slurs that Pike had taken one long look and kicked him and Bones out to find dinner and bed. In that order.

Bones had been busy himself. Somehow he'd found the time between checking on patients and detailing his own actions as Acting CMO to the Medical Admiral to go tattle to Pike about Winona's call. This of course meant Jim had woken to a recorded lecture on how he wasn't the cocky kid Pike had recruited but a valued Starfleet officer in his own right who'd done more for his world and the Fleet than Winona would ever manage. There had also been a list of comments Pike felt were worthy of immediately terminating the call, a firm reminder on the merits of his actions and the "goddamn miracles you pulled off, kiddo, including saving my grateful ass," and the command that since Pike didn't think Jim was capable of terminating the call if it came to that, Dr. McCoy was officially standing in for him and he had the Captain's express permission to pull the metaphoric plug at any time.

Besides, he was as grateful as he was nervous. This was Bones; no matter what happened here, only Pike would ever know the details. Even more importantly, he trusted Bones when he didn't quite trust himself. If Winona reverted back to type and started blasting him, Bones would terminate the call on the spot and then he and Pike would probably put their heads together and come up with some sneaky and very nasty vengeance on Jim's behalf. Jim, though…he wasn't sure he'd hang up on his mother no matter what she said, because the odds were decent he'd heard it before, and he didn't need that shit, not now.

"Right," he said, rubbing his hands down his jeans. He'd gone casual, which was a slight slap in the face to his image-conscious mother—sure, his jeans were clean and fit well, as did the t-shirt, but they were a far cry from his newly issued uniform, or even the reds.

"Jim," Bones said quietly and his strained smile turned smaller and real as he met worried hazel eyes.

"It's okay," he promised, and meant it. He'd done it, had made himself the man who'd become the youngest Captain in Starfleet history and he'd done it despite what his mother had thought of him. He didn't need her approval anymore. Wanted it, yeah, but needing it was an entirely different matter.

He'd proven himself to his own satisfaction in a way even surviving Tarsus and keeping his kids alive hadn't done. He'd saved the goddamn planet, and probably the Federation too if what Pike claimed was accurate, and in Jim's opinion Nero had been batshit nuts enough to carry through his threats of destroying every Federation planet. Even more importantly, he hadn't done it alone. An entire crew had trusted him enough to put their lives and the lives of their loved ones in his hands and together they'd won.

His father had saved eight hundred lives in the twelve minutes of his captaincy. Jim had saved countless billions in the first twelve hours of his. And as his battered ship had ridden the blast away from the black hole, the nagging voice in his mind—the one that sounded suspiciously like his mother telling him he'd never be half the man his father was—had fallen silent.

Yeah, he knew who he was, and he was content with that. Winona could approve or not as she pleased; it simply didn't matter anymore. Not in the ways that really counted, like the gentleness of Bones' hands as he'd gone over Jim when there'd been a moment to spare and they were only half-dead with exhaustion, or the unsurprised approval in Chris Pike's eyes the first time he'd been coherent enough for Jim to make his initial report to his Captain, three days out from Stardock.

Winona could say whatever she wanted to, and it might hurt, but she didn't have the power to break him, and for a moment the epiphany left him breathless.

Now then was the time to call, when he was still riding the discovery that he had a family right here, and that it was more than enough for him. He turned to the comm and punched in the numbers, bracing himself as it buzzed until a female face flashed up. Winona had aged well; she was pale but composed as she faced the viewscreen, and she was still as beautiful as he remembered even with the lines of tension bracketing her mouth and the lines at the corners of her eyes.

Her eyes were wide and blue, a darker shade than his, and damp from the looks of them as she smiled at the screen, pressing one hand against her mouth. But she didn't say anything, didn't break the silence that was turning tenser by the moment.

He had to say something, couldn't stand to let the silence stretch. He couldn't bring himself to say Mom; she hadn't acted as his mother in a long, long time and even then it had been grudging at best. She didn't deserve the name. Fortunately there was a relatively painless alternative at hand.

"Commander," he said carefully, quelling the brief and savage surge of pleasure at the realization that the son she'd sworn would end up in a gutter somewhere had ended up outranking her at an absurdly young age.

"Jim." She sounded pained, but he didn't give a fuck. She was lucky it was Commander and not something worse.

"You called," he noted, keeping his voice impersonal as he offered the reminder and the prompt, and she swallowed hard.

"I—yes. Yes, I did. I wanted to see you, talk to you. Apologize to you."

He'd—never expected that, and it shook him because she'd never once apologized. For all that she'd done wrong, for all that she'd turned a blind eye to, she'd never once apologized. He hadn't really thought she was capable of it, but here she was with an apology bursting from her like it'd been held back for far too long.

"Apologize," he repeated flatly, too at a loss to do anything but parrot her words back to her while he tried to figure out what her game was. If she meant it or not, because she'd never bothered before and he didn't get what could've caused a paradigm shift this drastic in her. It couldn't be him almost dying, because he'd come close to dying more than once during his rebellious childhood—hence driving the car into a quarry—and it was a fucking miracle he'd survived Tarsus.

"I'm sorry, Jim," his mother told him, only her clenched hands and white knuckles betraying her strain. "I'm so sorry. For everything."

Jim had to know why, had to know what had triggered this turnaround before he could even begin to consider whether it was sincere or not. "Why?" he asked, and she blinked. "Why now?" he elaborated and a slow flush worked up her pale cheeks.

"I—you destroyed that ship. The one that took your father from me—from us."

"I avenged the man I never knew, and that made me worthy of an apology for all the shit you put me through," Jim translated, suddenly weary to his core because he really should've known at this point. "Figures."

Her eyes flashed, temper he'd inherited from her flaring into hot life. "No, dammit, that's not why!"

Jim sat back, focus so complete on her he barely even registered the quick glances he flicked up at Bones, a silent and grim-faced reminder that he was no longer alone.

"Then why?" he inquired, spreading his hands. "Explain it to me, Commander."

She winced, anger fading to leave her pale again, but she didn't back down in the face of his cool sarcasm. He had to admire her for that, even as part of him hated her for not taking the easy out as he'd learned to expect.

"I blamed you," she said with obvious difficulty, putting the truth Jim had spent his entire life battling into words for the first time in twenty-five years. "I told myself you were the reason I couldn't go down with George, standing at his side." She paused, her throat working for a moment. "It was easier to blame you than to blame him for choosing to die."

Jim took offense at her words, because she didn't have the right to say it. She hadn't been the one standing on the bridge facing down Nero, she hadn't made those choices. He had. He'd stood in his father's shoes, walked the same essential path his father had when he'd gone on that suicide mission, taking the risk that he'd end up sacrificing himself to save his world and his ship as George Kirk had twenty-five years earlier. The fact that he'd survived pulling it off didn't negate the rest.

"He chose to save us," he corrected harshly, because that had driven him as well.

Winona Kirk gave him a trembling smile, heartbreak still lingering in her eyes after over two decades. "I know, Jimmy. That's why I hated him. I never thought I'd have to live without him, and I punished you for it in his stead. And I am so very sorry."

"Why?" he whispered, and the single word encompassed so very much, all the questions and rage and bewilderment of his childhood, all the grief and the anguish of his teenage years and the weariness he bore now as he faced her.

Her voice cracked again. "You're so much like him, Jimmy. Oh, it's Sam who bears his name, but you—you're everything glorious about him, everything that drew me to him. It hurt to look at you and see his eyes looking back. It hurt to look at you and know how proud he would've been."

It was everything he'd ever thought he wanted, absolution and confession all twined into one, and instead of exonerating the small part of him that had always wondered what he'd done to make Mommy hate him so, it made him feel sick. He remembered his mother as a proud woman who wouldn't bend even when she should've; he didn't like seeing her bring herself down this ruthlessly. And he didn't know what to do, how to cope with what she was saying. It was true, that much he didn't doubt, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy this.

He hadn't done anything to spark her aloofness, and really, that was all he'd needed to hear.

"It's all right," he said, even as his eyes skated away from Bones' rather incredulous glower. "I wasn't the easiest of kids, I know that."

"You weren't the easiest because I wasn't paying attention." Winona wasn't about to let herself off the hook now that she'd worked herself up to confessing. "I didn't know what to do for you and I didn't want to put in the work to understand it. You were so different from Sam, and it's not an excuse, but it is a reason. I'm sorry for that too, Jim." Her lips curved in a faint, pained smile. "I can't imagine what you felt when I said you didn't have the brains to get into a good college."

Jim's lips twitched despite the sourness lingering in the back of his throat. "Every Ivy-league within five hundred miles came after me," he admitted a touch wryly. It'd been a way out, but he hadn't taken it. He couldn't regret it now, though, because that path had led him here.

Winona had led him here, unwitting as it had been. For that, he could forgive just about anything.

"I bet," she said with a watery laugh, and he flashed a quick smile.

Then she sobered again and he braced himself all over again for whatever she was about to dredge up. "Jim, for what it's worth, I didn't know about Tarsus." She leaned forward, her eyes steady through the tears filming them as she spoke each word with deliberation. "I would never, _ever_, have sent you there had I had the slightest indication, Jim, I swear that to you. Your aunt didn't let on anything was amiss, and the rumors were kept quiet around Starfleet. I did not know. By the time I heard the news it was over." Her hands knotted as she held her son's gaze unwaveringly. "I would have done anything to get you back, Jim, and I'd sell my soul to go back and change things. But I didn't know."

He was older now and wiser, and he understood what the teenage him hadn't; what to him had been obvious red flags in retrospect simply hadn't raised many alarms among most people. And Starfleet had kept those rumors quiet rather than risk letting them explode in the fertile grapevine of the Fleet, so it was no wonder Winona hadn't heard anything until far too late. That much, he believed.

"I believe you," he said aloud, the words easing something deep inside. She hadn't known. She hadn't sent him there on purpose or through carelessness. Bones was watching carefully, but the older man didn't argue so Jim ignored him.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely, bowing her head for a moment. "I—when I heard the news, on the holo, I realized you could've died and I wouldn't even have known until it was over." She didn't waver as she met his gaze steadily. "And I realized that I'd treated you horribly. I realized you were the last gift your father gave me, and I threw you away. Your father would be very proud of you, Jim. And very ashamed of me."

He—didn't know how to react to that either. Winona didn't condemn herself often, but he couldn't doubt her sincerity. "Look, it's over and done," he said finally, groping for the right words and settling for the ones that came to mind. "Thank you for apologizing, I needed to hear that." He paused, mind catching up to her words as he gave her a quizzical look. "Wait a sec, I know you knew I'd enlisted, Pike told me right before he pretty much adopted me. How did you not know I was in danger?"

Winona—blushed? "I—er—oh, this is embarrassing," she muttered to herself before she blew out a breath, wry humor filling her eyes. "I thought you'd hacked my comm and set it up as a joke."

It took a second for the words to sink in, and for a moment Jim contemplated outrage that she'd thought that of him—except, really, it wasn't that far-fetched. His hacking skills were definitely up to Starfleet protocols, as he'd rather conclusively proven with the _Kobayashi_, and he wasn't above impersonating a Starfleet officer. And until Chris Pike had yanked him off his ass, metaphorically as well as otherwise, he'd never so much as considered joining the 'Fleet.

"I didn't think of it or I might've," he admitted, and started to laugh.

It broke the tension for a few blissful moments, but as their chuckles faded they eyed each other cautiously. Jim was exhausted; he didn't do emotional messes that well, and their short conversation had dredged up some of his worst nightmares with painful efficiency. Yes, the catharsis of his mother's apology was good—Bones would've ended this long ago if it wasn't—but Jim was still running on fumes and adrenaline, and he'd just about hit his limit.

It was time to wrap this up, and he was opening his mouth with the intention of doing just that when she looked up into the comm again.

Winona cleared her throat. "I could hop a shuttle at the Shipyards," she offered and Jim stiffened, breathing hard at the very thought of facing her. Bones shifted, his face dark with anger as he made a move towards the comm and he fought for control because he couldn't do this again, and doing it with Pike glaring at her wasn't going to help matters either.

"No," he snapped, speaking with more force than strictly necessary, and she blinked. "No," he repeated more calmly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Commander."

Her face—it crumpled, and it was so atypical an expression that he hesitated, quelling his instinct to terminate the call and end this misery.

She was trying. It was awkward and the skeletons of his childhood were littering everything they said and didn't say, but she was trying and that was more than she'd ever done before. And Jim realized he didn't want to let it go of this, maybe because he didn't want to be the asshole who couldn't let go of the past.

Christ, if Bones or Pike ever heard him talk like that they'd ream him out, but it was true. Selfish, perhaps, but true nonetheless. And because it was, he let out a breath and met her halfway.

"Look. This is my private comm. We're leaving soon, but…we can still talk in the black." He met her eyes as she lifted her head. "We can talk." It was the most he was prepared to offer, but to his relief she took it, her eyes lighting.

"Talking." She let out a breath of her own and he realized he wasn't the only one who didn't know what to say, what to do, if there was a "next" to get to. "That—that sounds good, Jim." She drew up a smile, and if it wavered, it was also genuine. "I'll send you my comm number."

He nodded back, picking his words with care. "Good. That sounds good." He hesitated, but it was the truth and it would please her. "I'm glad you called." And he was. Scared shitless, exhausted in a way that went far beyond the physical, and he'd have nightmares tonight from the ghosts seeing her had brought up—but he was glad.

She smiled—a true smile that he'd rarely seen on her face and never caused by him—and the tiny bit of him that was five years old and just wanted his mother's approval eased at the sight. Winona Kirk was a beautiful woman still, and for a moment, faced with the blazing warmth of that smile, he caught a glimpse of the woman she'd once been, the woman who had won the heart of George Kirk.

"So am I," she said simply, and he gave her a faint smile of his own. "Goodbye, Jim."

"Goodbye."

The screen went black, and it was only when Bones tugged him up and straight into a stranglehold that he realized he was shaking.

"That was harder than I thought," he confessed, and Bones snorted above him.

"You did good, kid."

"Yeah." It wasn't a fix, he didn't think anything could fix this; too much had passed between them. But it was a start, and that was going to have to be enough.

* * *

TBC


	4. Snowfall

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

A/N: Thank you all for your encouragement and support--134 alerts, 77 favs, and 9 C2s definitely kept me going. And without further ado, the conclusion!

* * *

Jim Kirk paused in the driveway to look up at the full moon casting her gentle light across the snow, lighting the world in a soft, soothing glow. Snow squeaked under his boots as he shifted and he smiled into the night at the familiar sound; it was cold tonight, even for Iowa in the dead of winter. He sucked in his breath, enjoying the bite of the cold air in his lungs and blew his breath out again to see the steam it formed, shapes swirling away into nothing as he watched.

He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat as he looked up at the old farmhouse standing at the end of the drive. Lights spilled out onto the snow, turning the ground beneath the windows into shimmering gold. Holographic candles danced in non-existent drafts in deference to old Terran traditions, and colored lights hung along the porch roofline.

Home, or what had once passed as home, long ago.

He was stalling, and he knew it. Part of him didn't want to be here, wanted to turn and swing onto the bike cooling next to him and race away into the night. Wanted to catch a lift back to San Fran, where a real tree stood in a beautiful townhouse, stockings dutifully hung over the mantle. Christopher Pike's townhouse had become home eight years ago, and it was a home like Jim had never known, full of warmth and laughter and cheer.

Not to mention really, really good booze.

Bones was there tonight, waiting for his return in the morning. He'd demanded Jim let him tag along, but Jim had talked him out of it; there was no point, it was an overnight stay, just a brief testing of the waters that would make or break whatever it was he and Winona had cautiously built between them. Pike had offered, eyes sharp with worry and affection, and Jim had nearly caved—but this belonged between him and the woman who'd birthed him, and Pike had understood.

Bones hadn't, but he'd yielded at whatever he'd seen in Admiral Pike's quick glance. Jim would pay, of course, but he'd grin and bear his CMO's wrath dutifully when the time came. And if this didn't work, he knew Bones would put him back together and never say a word of it again.

Now or never, and he started forward abruptly before he could break, boots loud against the snow. It'd been five years and he wasn't the kid he'd once been, wasn't even the young captain starting to find his feet after he'd proven himself conclusively. He'd spent five years in the black with over four hundred people relying on him to lead them, command them, and occasionally bear the burden of their deaths when he could do nothing else. He'd been the first to talk to dozens of new cultures, had seen hundreds of new wonders, made first contact and stood as the primary representative of the Federation. He'd faced down Romulans and Klingons, and he'd kicked major league ass along the way.

He knew who he was now. He was content in his own skin as he'd never been before, the driving rage at the loss of his father and later the horrors of Tarsus that had pushed him all his life finally tamed beneath the weight of the duty he'd chosen.

He had a family of his choice in his crew and a father in his mentor. He had people who loved him, Jim, who knew his darkest sides and his deepest flaws and still found him worthy. And he had a ship he loved and a job he'd been born to do.

He was James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise, and nothing would ever change that.

Which was why he was here, three days before Christmas in a surprise visit to the old Kirk homestead. He and Winona—not mother, not yet and perhaps not ever, but he was okay with that too—had spent the last five years talking. Cautious comms back and forth, nothing profound or earth-shattering, Jim didn't trust her with that and probably never would. They'd talked about their days, about what Sam was up to, about the antics of his crew and the latest feats of genius that left him breathless and marveling at the people who served under him. They'd commiserated over technological fuckups, even if his tended to be rather more drastic than hers, and bitched about red tape.

They'd built a tentative relationship, stilted though it might be. He hadn't forgotten, he didn't have that in him—but he was starting to forgive, or at least see how some day he could. Had forgiven enough to bring him here, because there was a difference between comm screens and seeing someone in person, and he couldn't have stood seeing her those first years after the _Narada_ mess had brought her back into his life.

It was time to see if he could face her now.

He'd set his course and he wasn't about to deviate now, so he strode straight up the steps, not clomping but not disguising his presence either, and hesitated again as he heard the sound of a woman humming, smelled the familiar scents of cinnamon, apples and spices. She'd be finishing up last-minute baking for the Christmas dinner on the final night before Sam arrived—he'd planned that too. Facing Winona would be difficult enough, he had no wish to deal with his older brother to boot. Not this time. They didn't have quite the history he and Winona did, but they hadn't exactly been close either, a state Frank had encouraged.

No, best to face Winona alone and go from there. He planted his feet and knocked briskly on the door, using the moment to build up his masks as the humming paused, and footsteps hurried his way.

"Just a minute!"

Jim flinched a little at the sound of her voice before he caught himself. Now wasn't the time for this and besides, hearing her in person wasn't that different from hearing her over the comm.

"Sorry," she was saying as she swung the door open, a ready smile on her lips as she wiped her hands on the dish towel tucked into her jeans. "I was—" she looked up and the color drained from her face.

Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. So he settled for a nod.

"Ma'am."

"Jim." Her eyes, a darker blue than his own, lit. "Jimmy."

He schooled the wince, but he couldn't keep himself from shifting his weight defensively back. She didn't have the right to that nickname, and besides, Jimmy had died on Tarsus along with his innocence. She didn't miss it, which surprised him nearly as much as the flash of pain in her eyes before she let out a breath and stepped back, cautious hope still filling her gaze.

"Can you come in?"

Jim felt like a stranger, a guest in the house that had once been his as Winona ushered him in, sat him at the table and offered eggnog and cookies. The alcohol he refused, for once; he wasn't going to risk a clouded head, nor the chance of being stuck here overnight. But he sampled the cookies with cautious pleasure, remembering the same mixture of flavors from his childhood, when he'd been too young for the distance in his mother's eyes to spoil the excitement of the holiday for him.

The conversation was stilted as she gingerly took the chair across from him, nothing more serious than Winona's excitement at the thought of seeing Sam and Aurelan and their kids again and what Jim's crew was up to for the holidays. But it eased when Jim talked about the plans Bones and Chris were cooking up that Jim theoretically didn't know about—Winona grinned at the sly look he slotted her way, clearly remembering a few of the plans he'd crashed as a child, and for once they both laughed at the memories. And the worst of the tension quietly melted away.

****

The icebreaker had been crucial, Jim thought later as he shrugged into his coat and accepted the large package of homemade cookies his mother pressed into his hands. To her credit she hadn't asked him to stay the night, nor to spend Christmas here—she was trying too, and that was as vital a change as anything.

He'd enjoyed himself. Oh, they didn't have the easy camaraderie he associated with his crew, but then Winona Kirk wasn't his friend and probably never would be. They were more casual acquaintances, and acting like it had let them both relax more than Jim had ever thought possible.

Winona's hands darted up to fuss at his scarf and he let her arrange it to her satisfaction, noting the pleasure in her eyes when he didn't protest. "Thank you," she said quietly, hands falling. "It was a lovely Christmas gift, Jim."

The smile was uncertain, but at least it was real. "I had fun," he admitted. "Thank you." He surprised himself as he bent slightly to press his lips to her cheek before he stepped back. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you." She watched him head down the steps, and he waved briefly as he fired up the bike and backed down the snowy drive. Jim glanced back one final time to see her standing in the doorway, a slim woman framed by the golden light spilling around her before he faced forward again.

The snow was falling again, a steady stream that glittered in the headlights. Pristine white covering the half-melted and dirty slush at the sides of the road. The foundation still existed beneath, but it was a fresh start, a clean one.

Then he laughed at himself and his poetic twist of thought; good thing Bones wasn't privy to his stream of consciousness or he'd never hear the end of it. He grinned into the night, eyes already drawn to the glow of the shipyards towering at the horizon, the framework of a new beauty climbing between them. A warm berth for the night, and a comm to assure Bones and Pike everything had gone well, a couple of cookies, and he'd get up for the dawn shuttle. He'd be home by mid-morning if all went well.

Yeah. It was time to head home.

FINIS


End file.
